


For The Fallen Are The Virtuous Among Us

by wingless



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dark And Troubled Pasts, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Parallels, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Romantic Friendship, idk how relationship tags even work with this canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingless/pseuds/wingless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is an exiled, fallen princess; the other, a former spy turned priestess. It's an odd and unlikely pair they end up forming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Floating Forgetfully Along With No Need To Be Strong

**Author's Note:**

> This thingy and its title are Inspired by the song The Fallen by Franz Ferdinand (by the band, not the archduke of Austria, he is dead and not a musician) but the fic itself doesn't really have anything to actually do with the song or its contents or meaning except tangentially.

The Stone's children take after their mother. They are a stout, strong people, hard and tough and enduring, firm and stubborn. And so is Sereda Aeducan, even if her veneer of a gentle, kindly young lady, may not make it seems so. Her title of nobility, and the Dwarven honor and House Aeudcan's pride in it, Sereda takes these things to heart. And she loves Orzammar, she loves her people, the good and the bad, the pleasant and the less so, loves them as she takes in the sights of what they are when she isn't looking, as they go about their daily lives and live them to the fullest. She loves them for their normalcy, for being of her city, for the things she sees in them. She loves her city, and she wants to protect it, to be as kind to it as it is to her.

But she understands the difference between kindness and weakness, and maintains the firmness of heart and an iron core that she has been taught all her life.

So a challenge from her opponent never goes unanswered, but if she can avoid the spilling of blood, she does, and grants them mercies both small and big even when others scream for blood. A call for help always gets an answer, even if manipulation or a trick might be behind it, and if it is, she always finds out and retaliates. Every dispute she finds, she tries to settle as fairy as possible, with consideration for both parties. A peaceful solution is the one she will always take before a violent one, but sometimes to eliminate a potential opponent, she calls for a Proving and defeats it without killing—far more efficient than any verbal threat, and makes it clear enough what were to happen to anyone trying to take on House Aeducan.

And to the common people who she passes by to the treats, she is as polite and respectful as she would be to her own father, and does her best to be the kind, benevolent princess her people deserve. From the nobles of the other houses and the famous Warrior Caste dwarves to the merchants in the streets and the servants in her palace and the noble hunters who come by when they can.

(And, if, perhaps, she enjoys it when the people she helps thank her profusely and call her kind and good and compliment her endlessly, and if it makes her feel good about herself, and if she likes to think of how kind and selfless she is and how much more noble than her brothers, and that might be why she sometimes makes sure to be nice to the lower castes in public, and sometimes that is why she does the most exceptionally good and selfless thing she can think of, well—nobody needs to know that.) 

She is a bit of an oddity, among her house, all of whom are far more ruthless, far more willing to turn to their blades and far more aggressive, men and women both. Perhaps it's just a matter of character, or maybe she's just the contradictory type, the kind who likes to go against the norm and look at things from a different perspective than everyone else does. But she is the Aeducan princess, and a dwarf, through and through, and so she is never weak and never obedient and meek. She takes her duty to heart, and devotes herself to it, even if it takes a slightly different form than what one would expect. King Endrin is no less proud of his daughter for it, and she no less a part of her house.

But perhaps if she had bit just a bit ruthless, just a bit more aggressive, and willing at all to compromise her honor and put nobility aside, her future would have been a very different one.

"As noble as stubborn as ever", Bhelen called her the night before her world flipped outside down, and it's not a compliment. He says it in a tone of disdain but deeply laced with pity, and while it takes Sereda time to comprehend what exactly he means, the implication is enough that she has to sleep with Gorim guarding the doors to her bedroom and with her shield and sword within reach. 

\---

It is the heart of Orlais, where Leliana leads her life. She is young, energetic, passionate, at the height of her career as a bard, and her life couldn't be better.

The life of a bard is full of thrill and fun, and there is never a dull moment in the hour of her day. There is never a job she doesn't enjoy, and when there is something she does not like it never spoils the fun of the rest of the day. She works from the shadows, and her influence is never seen but in the results of her work, and she loves to see chaos stir and to cause disturbance and change in order, and know that it was her that did it an nobody knows. There is a thrill in having influence and affecting the world around you without anyone knowing it is you. And through she privately looks down and scoffs at the Game, she is glad that it exists only because she enjoys playing a part in it. Being a player, she would never want, but to be one of the pieces is a delight.

With Marjolaine, the two of them are one of Orlais' many deadly duos. Every day brings upon something new and exciting, and dangerous and risky, and a single misstep can bring everything coming down. She needs to know how to do everything exactly right, at the right place and time, to think and act quickly, to anticipate everything that can possibly happen, to be able to see as good as someone with eyes at the back of their head. Not a single thing could go wrong or less than exactly as it needs to go. You need to be, not good, but the best, or you will fall. They expect you to do the impossible, when you're a bard, and you go ahead and do it.

Fear, tension, apprehension, worry, the sort of emotions such an environment inspire, they are all secondary to the exhilaration that never wanes. 

Marjolaine teaches Leliana everything, from the battle with daggers and bows to the battle done with words. She is both a harsh and gentle teacher, as needs be, harsh if it's for the benefit of the lesson, if it helps Leliana learn, but never to an extreme, and by the end of the day it always dissipates. During the day, she can be anything and everything, but by the evening, in the privacy of the room where it's only the two of them, Marjolaine is always the same, all the things she can be at once. Marjolaine teaches that too, how to become different people, to wear masks so convincing no one will ever see past it, how to find out what exactly you need to become, and become it. Under her guidance Leliana becomes as formidable an actress as she is a spy and a fighter. She's not sure which of these things she loves to be most.

And Leliana loves Marjolaine so dearly, so dearly she would follow her anywhere, deep into the darkest bowels of the earth, to the very ends of Thedas, to the darkest nightmares of the Fade and the blackest parts of the Void. And she would not question it for a moment, if it would be for Marjolaine. Her heart beats with excitement when Marjolaine walks towards her, when she looks at her, when she is merely in her very presence. When she smiles at her and strokes her face, and calls her pretty thing, Leliana’s heart might just burst with everything she feels all rising at once and ringing like bells in her rib cage. And every time Marjolaine touches her, every time she feels her hands, a tender touch on the shoulders, a fleeting brush of the fingers or palms, a stroke on her face, no matter how short-lived the contact is, she relishes and savors it and thinks about it later, alone, no matter how warm it makes her in the face. 

And it’s pathetic when she thinks about it and perhaps it’s a sign that she is still young and inexperienced, for one of the cunning and unflappable bards to be at her heart’s mercy like this. Marjolaine must know, how could she not? She must see the reactions she inspires in her student, the bright-eyed looks and warm cheeks and the slightest difference in the smiles Leliana gives her and those everyone else receive. She must understand what Leliana wants from her, what she feels for her at the very bottom of her heart, even if Leliana, embarrassed young girl that she becomes around her mentor, can't admit it herself. She wonders if the nicknames, the open affection, the touches, way she just barely stays this side of flirting, is her way of teasing, of playing with her. If it is, Leliana does not mind; games are a bard’s life, and not one she would have stayed in if she did not like them. It is so like Marjolaine to play around, so much like her enigmatic and inscrutable mentor, and part of the allure that led Leliana to her in the first place.

And it’s exciting. 

When she does show that she is aware, however, of what Leliana wants from her, the end of that little game is not the disappointment Leliana was quietly apprehensive of. In the stories, romances are always about the uncertainty, the flirting, the tension, and stop being exciting once the feelings are out and confessed. But when Marjolaine first kisses her, and when the kisses become a regular thing, the excitement, the fluttering hearts and tightening of the throat and the feeling in the pit of her stomach do not. The nights with Marjolaine bringing Leliana to her bedroom begin, where she strokes her face and hair and lays her down on her bed, and calls her pretty thing and tells her how dear she is to her, how much she loves her dearest sweet girl, her good girl, her pretty thing, and all the things she will make her feel and the ways she will do so, they are as frenzying every time.

When Marjolaine tells Leliana, "you're mine" for the first time, Leliana's heart does not actually burst out of her chest, but how could that be, when it feels exactly as though it did? Marjolaine must see how smitten Leliana is with her. Leliana is mainly embarrassed with it, but Marjolaine, she thinks, must like it. And if Marjolaine likes it, well, that's enough for Leliana, to be the way Marjolaine wants her.

"Don't let me down," Marjolaine tells her. Leliana wouldn't consider it for a moment. The very idea of doing anything less than impressing her every time they go out for work never crosses her mind. 

\--

For Sereda, alone in her prison cell, knowing she has lost everything she ever, from every possession to her family and allies to even her title and name, for some time it seems like there is no hope. Not even when Gorim informs her that there is still a way out as a last minute act of desperation to help her when he still has the change does she really believe that she is anything but doomed. 

It's hard not to feel as if everything is worthless, when you are alone in the depths of the earth, the abandoned world where nobody will find you or seek you, and where nothing but death or a freedom at the cost of your mind awaits you. And yet, with nothing but a shield and a sword and her prison rags and her own determination to conquer this feeling of futility and resignation to ruin, she sets out and fights. She fights and fights for hours and hours, forces herself not to feel fatigue by the time she well should, not to give in to the temptation to just let the darkspawn have their way and not to make any effort to avoid their blood. She is an Aeducan, and that dwarven stubbornness and durability never shows itself as clearly as it does then.

And so, she survives. It's almost impossible to believe it when she first sees Duncan and realizes she's found the Grey Wardens, her way out, after all. She doesn't quite believe it even when they make it out into the surface and into the new world where there is nothing but emptiness far above her head that feels surreal, unnatural, wrong, not even when they make it to Ostagar and there is nothing but humans and on occasion elves around her as far as the eye can see. The realization only starts to settle in around the time when she drinks of the darkspawn's blood—to think, drinking the blood of those monsters, to become more like them, in order to fight them—and when she privately thinks about how she's going to prove herself now, to her brother, her father, to all of them. By surviving, and fighting, and winning.

She is fallen, exiled and discarded by her beloved city, yet here she is. Here, a long way the home, in this strange, new world, far on the surface, she carries Orzammar and her duty to it in her heart. It may not welcome her any more, it may have rejected and renounced her, but it has always meant everything to her, and her duty to her city was her one largest purpose in life. Whatever the memories and official statements will say, at her core she is still Lady Aeducan, and will continue being that person deep in her heart, alongside her new Grey Warden self.

With that thought in mind, she decides to step in and embrace this odd new life and strange but not altogether bad world.

\--

The Lothering Chantry, a little primitive, quaint little building in the midst of nowhere, couldn't be possibly more different than Val Royeaux. There is no thrill, fun and excitement here. It is the kind of place that embodies everything Leliana and her life of hedonistic pleasure is not, that she would pass by and scoff at, and the sisters and mothers there would speak of people like her with disdain and contempt equal to her scorn. There are plenty of dull moments in her days here, with all that's little to do. Everything is brown either because it's wooden or with dirt, mud, and other things, and the unpleasant smells are inescapable no matter where she goes. The people around her are common folk, the kind she wouldn't give the time of the day back in her old, and don't make for much conversation or very interesting company.

There is not a single place she'd currently rather be.

With the scars on her back still healing and still recovering from the trauma and shock of everything that happened, Marjolaine's betrayal and her time in prison, Leliana spends two years in the Chantry as the respite she has long needed from the intensity of her life. The monotony of Lothering Chantry soon begins to shift in her eyes, until it begins to look far more like peace and serenity, the feeling of waking up to a quiet morning and knowing she can get out of bed whenever she likes, take her time with getting out and sit calmly eating breakfast to the sound of chirping birds above and soothing silence. She works and helps out the people who come to the chantry, talks to them, tells stories, advises and prays, and passes her free time deep in thought about the Maker, the new-found light in the darkness that has come to her and that she seized against all her own expectations.

Her hair, she cut, and her old knives and armor she long since threw away. The simple robes of the Chantry lay sisters are what she wears now. Ah, if the people back in Orlais could see her now, what a reaction they would have.

She is fallen, but here she is, getting back on her feet, with a new guide and a new light to follow, one far less clear or easy to see and yet it feels all the more real for it. A light she created for herself and chooses herself how to perceive and what to believe it is. And though that makes her an outcast and it hurts when nobody seems to understand her perceptions and beliefs, her interpretation is the one that feels truest to her. It helps her find hope again, rediscover a way to stand back up when she feels at her lowest. And isn't that what people come to the Chantry for?

\--

It's all in all, largely a coincidence that their paths intersect. It's largely a coincidence that Sereda survives, and that Leliana is in the tavern at the very moment Sereda comes inside and is confronted by Loghain's soldiers and that she hears them call her a Grey Warden, or in fact that Sereda is in Lothering the day Leliana makes the decision to leave in order to help stop the Blight. She joins less because of anything about Sereda herself, although her skill in battle makes an impression on Leliana just as Leliana's does on Sereda, and more because joining a Grey Warden is the best possible way Leliana can help others and assist against the Blight.

It starts as a mutual partnership, but rather formal and not unpleasant and not friendly either. Leliana does not expect much out of her relationship with the Grey Wardens or for it to become any closer than a acquaintanceship between two people brought together for a purely utilitarian purpose, for a common goal of preventing danger. Leliana just wants to help, to do what she can, and to get back on her feet in the more physical sense after her two-year rest. 

So she doesn't expect much of anything out of their relationship. But then, the night they first make camp, Sereda walks t over to her. She smiles at her, the same friendly, cordial way she smiles at Alistair, though she has only known Leliana for a few hours, less than a day, and says, "Want to come and eat dinner with us? Alistair and I could use some company." Leliana takes her up on the invitation, and takes a seat next to Sereda and the mabari at her feet. Dinner is typical Fereldan food, but she's gotten used to it after two years. She spends several minutes quietly listening to the two Grey Wardens talk before Sereda turns to her begins to draw Leliana into their conversation. Leliana allows it, .

She sleeps peacefully that night, maybe not happy but fully content, in a different way than in Lothering.

\--

You cannot go through something like fighting your way through a tower filled with demons and abominations and then getting stuck in the Fade, and then one of you getting the other out and rescuing you after entering your dreams in the quite literal sense, without growing just a little bit closer. This might explain why Leliana becomes aware of how comfortable she has grown to Sereda's presence around the time they leave the tower and make their way to camp after a long, exhausting, intense day.

This is not just an acquaintanceship; this is a friendship, only just blooming and starting to grow, but by the Maker, did Leliana miss this, having friends, equal friends, simply people she liked to spend time with and talk and fight side by side with, normal friendships. How good it feels to have people to talk to at any moment about anything she wants to—well, almost everything, but there are so many people in their group, and so much to talk about, so many ways to spend her time. She is part of this group just as all of them are.

But there is something different, something just a little different in Sereda, in the way she is drawn to and fascinated by her. She feels more comfortable around Sereda than all of them, more than anyone else for a long time, and when she catches herself staring at her while they walk, or when she sits by the campfire, or whenever she can and Sereda is not looking, and silently appreciating the unique features, the jawline and high, sharp cheekbones and long nose and the warm copper-colored hair, the realization of what she's beginning to feel comes without a shock or a surprise. Almost anticlimactic, really, simply catching herself starting and then just knowing what is it she's starting to feel. It's somehow not surprising, not as unexpected as it should have been, so far Sereda seems to be from Leliana's type.

Or, perhaps not. When Leliana talks about certain kinds of noble people with Wynne, of people with dignity and grace, it is indeed Wynne herself she talks about, in whom she sees the shadow of Lady Cecile and her wisdom and poise. What she doesn't say is that she also talks about what she once saw in Marjolaine, and what she sees in Sereda now. 

Sereda is everything she admires and appreciates, kind-hearted and brave, always doing the good, right thing, who seems incapable of denying any call for help, polite, gracious and earnest. But she is firm and strong, an incredible fighter, and even her lack of grace and elegance in her style of fighting could not bother Leliana less. She is an incredible woman unlike any other, remarkable—yes the same terms she would so often think about Marjolaine in.

Yet it’s different, somehow, in some way. When she loved Marjolaine, her heart was young and craved excitement and thrill, and Marjolaine supplied it. Her heart was young and she worshipped Marjolaine, like she was a goddess, and she wanted to belong to her, to be owned and loved by this incredible, perfect woman so beyond and above her. She craved affection and approval, practically depended on receiving it from her. She was very young when she met Marjolaine first, an impressionable young girl who was utterly enamored and her entire heart captivated with everything Marjolaine was from first sight. At some point, she forgot that what she felt as love was just as much hero-worship and infatuation, and had she recognized that, she might have realized how much love has blinded her.

With Sereda, it’s different. There are no butterflies in her stomach, no nervousness and rapid heartbeats making it difficult for her to breathe. There is only a deep, overwhelming affection and happiness and a feeling of closeness and comfort that she feels she haven’t felt for a long time.

During the nights at camp, before they go to sleep, and on the roads while they walk and make their way to their destination, Leliana finds bliss in simply being besides this woman, who smiles at her so warmly and listens to her when she talks and is always understanding and kind, who has a deep, warm laugh and a gentle, soft voice. She loves to speak with her as much to simply quietly be with her, either to sit in silence together or to be beside her and listen to her talk to others. 

She loves to listen to this mature, sensible, levelheaded woman laugh mischievously when she jokes around with Alistair; to a peaceful, diplomatic woman who avoids conflict and maintains civility and calmness boldly challenge the unflappable, aloof Qunari giant in discussion and debate and bring out a smile out of him with the dry humor that matches his, through some miracle find a way to get into the good graces of a cranky, unfriendly golem and bring out the good heart that Leliana has no doubt is there. To see the dependable, reliable woman who seems to be carry four times her weight on her shoulders talk to Wynne and let someone else play the role she so often plays to others, and watch these two so oddly similar woman, young dwarf and old mage, build a tender friendship. 

And when Leliana tells her of her belief in miracles, in the Maker, in her belief that there is beauty in the world and that the Maker shows himself in small ways, in finding light in the deepest darkness and having faith even when all seems lost, she doesn’t simply listen, but she _understands_. Though they do not believe the same god, and do not hold the same faith, the idea that Leliana tries to bring across, that she holds so close to her heart, reaches Sereda too.

\--

"Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith." 

It is odd how such simple, pretty words, of ideas such as beauty and faith so disconnected from Sereda, could have such a profound effect on her. So that when she wakes up in the dead of night from dreams of Archdemons and darkspawn, and stays up at night thinking of her father, and Trian, and Bhelen, and her fight through the Deep Roads and everything that happened, and the fear and terror of all the responsibility for an entire world on her shoulders weighs down on her—she thinks of these words, and the intense fretful beating of her heart begins to calm down.

You don't have to believe in the Maker, it seems to her, to believe in a simple principle, in finding happiness and beauty in small things and little marvels, in handling tour way through dark tunnels by treasuring those little lights you find, like little spots of fire and warmth in the cold bleak brown depths of the Deep Roads. Such a simple yet profound idea. 

And during those nights she sometimes goes out of her tent to find Leliana still up, either because she couldn't sleep or didn't feel like it or because it's her turn to take watch for the night. She joins her then, and listens to Leliana talk in silence, and her smooth voice always calms the frantic beating of Sereda's heart, no matter how anxious or uneasy she is.

\--

Leliana is comfortable enough that she doesn't go for subtlety when she begins to express interest in her—it comes out a bit awkward, but it's sincere: she does like the way Sereda wears her warm, copper-colored hair, how it frames and shows her face, the way it adds to how lovely she looks in profile.

She is delighted when Sereda does not hesitate for even a moment to respond in kind. She has missed this kind of thing so terribly- teasing, playfully flirting, the way she would banter with Marjolaine. It was fun, and it was wonderful, and Sereda seems to be enjoying it just as much.

Then Sereda brings her a gorgeous bouquet flowers, and she's quite charmed, honestly, and happy to response to her half-joking request with a real kiss, a small one. But the moment she inhales their smell, a rush of nostalgia, a flood of memories as well as intense emotions the moment she recognizes their smell—

Leliana mentioned it in passing, long ago, in one of their many conversations, the flowers and the scent of them that she'd vividly remember as her mother's, and Sereda not only remembers but finds, pick up, and brings a bouquet of them just for her—

'Thank you' doesn't quite cut it. 

\--

The worlds they come from couldn't possibly be more different. That's what it seems like to Sereda, at least.

When she imagines the world Leliana came from, from a combination of her studies and everything she read with Leliana's own descriptions, the images that come to mind are in hues bright, soft pastels, depicting a world of lavishness and over-the-top obsession with beauty and appearance. In her mental images are tall, long-limbed figures in gaudy, impractical and uncomfortable clothing that stretched the boundaries of her imagination, blinding light shining from the skies all throughout the day. She thinks of Leliana's world as a flower vase, delicate, pretty, fragile, and wrapped in a soft pink coating. Sereda's world is warm browns and gold, warm, dark colors, the color of the Stone and the lava fountains, a severe, rough world. They cannot afford frivolity or extravagance, not even the nobles; far too busy are everyone fighting an endless battle of survival against their own neighbors.

They couldn't be more different either, as if they were embodiments of the worlds they come from. Tall, lean and lanky Leliana, smooth and graceful, quick and nimble, sharp as a knife, against short, stocky, bulk Sereda, blunt as her shield, rough around the edges, strong, solid and robust, obstinate and resilient like stone.

And yet the more they get to know each other, the more they discover how similar they are, how alike they think and the things they value, the way they see the world. Leliana can' t quite personally relate Sereda's strongly dwarven devotion to honor, but they both agree in doing what's right, in goodness and kindness. Leliana speaks of her ideals in much prettier words and more poetic language than Sereda would use, but she understands what Leliana means never the less. And the truth is, she learns that the worlds they come from are not as different inside as they are outside. It only takes Leliana's description of The Game and the rivalry between the nobility when Sereda questions her about minstrels to make her realize that.

After the initial surprise at the familiarity of the description, Sereda smiles and says, "Well, that sounds familiar. I think in Orzammar, we have that too, our own Game. But we don't have a name for it. We just call it Assembly politics."

"Yes, I've heard about the Assembly. About how dwarven politics are often... very brutal." Leliana looks at her sympathetically.

Sereda shakes her head. "To put it lightly." But a thought surfaces that has been at the back of her mind through the conversation, and she looks at Leliana seriously. She says it grimly but gently, not wanting to be accusing or unkind, but simply honest, "Hey, Leliana... you were a bard, weren't you?"

Leliana takes being found out quite well, with dignity. "I have revealed too much, it seems. But it doesn't matter what I used to be. It’s in the past."

"Fair enough. So that's how you learned to fight like that?" Sereda says it as much as a genuine realization, a reassurance— that this doesn't have to change anything— as she says it to avoid the unsaid question of, _but how did you end up as a priestess in Ferelden, of all things?_ hanging in the air.

”Yes.” Maybe Leliana senses it far too strongly to bring herself to avoid it and the awkwardness of it. "I... found myself in Ferelden and sheltered from bad weather in the Chantry. And when the storm passed I just... did not want to leave. I like to say the Maker brought me here."

The slightest hesitation is a clear enough tell, and all of Sereda's instincts tell her it's a lie anyway, but she doesn't press. Sereda has not been any more open about her past, herself, no more than where she came from, who she is and that she is exiled, and has managed to maneuver around questions for any more details. She can entirely understand Leliana's desire to do the same; the least she can do as a friend is respect her secrets.

\--

There are a lot of reasons Leliana doesn’t tell.

It seemed distant, unimportant at the time. She didn’t want her old self brought into this life, her new life. Her old and new self, she wanted to keep separate. Those two years in the chantry were a clean, sharp line between her two lives, and she didn’t want it blurred.

Part of it may have been because as comfortable she has grown around Sereda, as much as she felt that she could tell her anything and knew that Sereda wouldn’t judge her or look down on her no matter what she says, and while Sereda already knew that she was a bard… she didn’t know much more of exactly the kind of person she used to be. And Sereda had a very specific image of her that Leliana didn’t want to tarnish, in fear it might turn her away.

Part of it was Marjolaine. Part of it was the fact that it’s been two years and Leliana cut her out of her life, and she has someone new now, and it was well her time to be over Marjolaine, all the more now that she understood how blind she was about her true nature more than ever. Yet she still misses her. She still sees her in her dreams sometimes, and dreams of the way Marjolaine would love her and give Leliana everything she craved and wanted. And that was not something she wanted Sereda to know.

But it eggs on her on and on since then. It bothers and bothers her and she manages to ignore it up until one night she can’t quite keep it secret anymore. She tells it to Sereda, one night in camp, when they stay up late watching the stars together, Sereda listening to Leliana’s stories. She never stops asking, not even for stories she must know by heart herself by now, so often had she asked for Leliana to tell her. When a long awaited silence befalls, Leliana gathers her courage and turns to Sereda and blurts it out.

Sereda doesn’t condemn her, or criticize her. She only asks why. Leliana admits one reason. And she tells her the story. And Sereda listens to her, and asks her without judgment, without disparagement, with honesty and understanding. At the end of it, she holds Leliana’s hand and looks her firmly in the eye, and says, “You will be safe in my company.”

Leliana feels at once warm with affection and light with relief, as if the sun just came out to cast its rays and as if she could lift her feet off the ground and float in the air. All her fears and worries about Sereda’s reaction seem silly, now, but she knows deep down there was a reason for them too.

A little later, when a few minutes pass, perhaps slightly less than an hour—how quickly time flies by when they’re together—Sereda, lying on her back and staring somewhere into the distance, away from Leliana, speaks in a uncharacteristically disconnected yet vulnerable voice, “Can I tell you my own story, Leliana? About what happened to me, and how I ended up here?”


	2. There's Mistakes I Made That No Rowing Could Outrun

Leliana gave Sereda her story. Sereda felt she owed to give Leliana hers in return.

It's not as if Sereda meant to keep it a secret, exactly. When it comes down to it, it sort of happened on its own, really, with the way nobody really speaks much about themselves unless asked, and don't always reveal everything even then. Sereda is not used to keeping such big secrets about herself, but this was one thing she didn't feel very comfortable instantly telling. She simply avoided telling when asked, and so it became a secret. Right up until Leliana. She is not used to keeping big secrets about herself, and by the Stone is she glad she won't do that anymore. She never realized how badly she wanted to tell someone and how much of a pain it was to keep it to herself until she actually did and felt the massive weight of the secret slip off her shoulders. 

So she tells Leliana everything. No more secrets. She tells Leliana about who she was and the life of a princess in Orzammar. She tells her about Assembly politics and the bloody, brutal world of Orzammar's own Game. She tells her about her brothers, about grumpy, unsociable, overly serious and unamicable Trian and the seemingly idle, unassuming and overshadowed Bhelen, and how she was, yes, the favored child both for their father and the city itself. While she's as it, she tells Leliana about Gorim, just as Leliana told her about Marjolaine, about how she may not have exactly loved him but she could have, had what they had gone on longer, and she cared for him, knowing they had no future and could never really be, and how she still misses him.

And she tells her the truth; that she was never meant for the world of Orzammar royalty and Assembly politics. She was never good at sneaking, or manipulation, or trickery, or anything that dishonorable. She tells her about what that led to in the end. About her appointment as commander, the feast, the expedition, Duncan's visit, Trian's status as the heir to Orzammar's throne and her own popularity and how largely preferred she was.

"The night before the expedition, I talked to Trian and Bhelen before going to sleep. That night Bhelen told me that Trian is going to kill me. I considered the idea only for a moment before I dismissed it. I thought it was insane and completely unthinkable. I refused to spare it a thought a moment longer. For the own brother to try to kill me? Impossible. Siblings don’t do that, I thought." Oh, Stone help her. How little she knew and understood about her own world. "But I couldn't stop feeling nervous about it, so I was more on my guard than usual that night. It didn't help, it turns out. During the expedition, I went with Gorim and two others for assistance in fighting. I separated from my brothers and the rest of us, and on our way we were ambushed by mercenaries looking for the shield. We killed them, and found the shield. Then, when we got to the meeting point..."

She paused. She looked at Leliana, quiet, sympathetic, listening, letting her take her time.

"Trian. His body was there. Next thing I knew, Bhelen was with Father and everyone else and was accusing me of murdering Trian. Gorim stood up for me, but it was pointless. The other two were asked about what happened and both claimed that I killed him. So off I was to prison, allegedly to wait for my trial. Except not. They didn't even allow me that much." Her hand tightened into a fist and grabbed at the grass underneath it; Leliana placed her own soothing hand on top of Sereda's. Sereda could only barely sense it; telling the story made her feel as if she was reliving it all over again. "As it turns out Bhelen was working on this for a very long time. He turned the entire Assembly against me before they could even call me for my own trial. The outcome was decided quickly."

"Bhelen killed Trian, and had you framed for it?"

"Yes. And only one punishment could await a kinslayer. So off all records of my existence went, erased from the Memories, my title stripped from me, and the kinslayer herself... I was exiled to the Deep Roads, sentenced to die there."

"But what about your father? He agreed to that?"

Father, she tried not to think about, after all this time. Sereda closed her eyes. "Bhelen had him convinced too. I don't know how. I don't know how Bhelen did any of that. By the Stone, did I underestimate him. Gorim informed me of the outcome before I had to find out for myself. He managed to get away with being exiled to the surface, but before he did, he came to me and told me what happened. And that the Grey Wardens were still in the Deep Roads, and that I could find them and make it to the surface. So I did.”

She paused and took a deep breath. “So that’s what happened. Duncan saved me, and that's how I became a Grey Warden, and came to the surface, and to Ostagar. I met Alistair, and survived what happened there, and after that we made our way from the Wilds to Lothering, and met you."

"I understand. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"You know what you said about feeling comfortable around you? I feel the same way. You're the first person I told about this."

"I... I am honored that you trust me that much."

"Why wouldn't I? You know, Leliana," Sereda turns around and lies on her stomach, hands folded, and winks. "I like you very, very much."

"Really? Well, it is a good thing I am not entirely indifferent to you either."

"Oh, good, I was worried for a moment there. I can sleep much better at night now, not worrying about that."

"It seems to me that we affirm that we like each other a great deal. Did you really have trouble sleeping at night because of it?"

"Well, maybe I just like informing you of that, and hearing you inform me of that. That's not so bad, is it?"

"Not at all. I like hearing you inform me of that either."

"Duly noted. I'll make an effort to do it more."

Leliana giggles, and it's the most charming, delightful sound Sereda has ever heard.

\--

Wynne is the next person who finds out, and only because she asks; after that, Alistair. He is the first real friend she's ever had, and it is only fair. The more people she tells, the more uncomfortable she keeps keeping it secret, and so the story spreads, one-by-one. They are all her companions, and even if Leliana is special, they deserve to know no less than she does. Leliana’s past work was not left secret to everyone else for very long the moment she revealed it to Sereda either; these seem to be the unspoken rules of their little group, and Sereda is glad for them. In the end, keeping secrets is not for her.

Besides, the comfort Wynne provides her is something she didn’t know she desperately needed. Wynne is the mother she always wanted to have, the person that Mother probably wasn’t, but Sereda imagined her to be. As open as she is to Leliana, there is no one who she’s willing to expose her vulnerability to more than Wynne, who seems to practically invite you to do so. Alistair is less eloquent, fumbles around with trying to find the right words to express what he wants to say, but he is clear enough that he is sympathetic and understanding, and that sentiment is more than enough for Sereda. Theirs is the tender and emotional friendship that is also something Sereda always wanted.

Sten is a different matter. “It’s good that you left that world.” He says frankly. “If such a thing could happen in it. Your society is corrupt.” 

”Our entire society, I don’t know. The deshyrs and the society of the noble caste, yes.” Sten, it seems to her, thinks that most of the societies that aren’t his own are corrupt, but in this particular case he is not wrong neitherless.

”If the people who are responsible for managing your society are corrupt, then so is your society itself.”

Sereda can’t find any argument against that. It is rare for her to agree with him, but he seems to prefer it when she challenges him and argues with him in either case. But here she has nothing to say. He’s right. So she nods. “Fair enough.” 

”All I have to say is this: you kept on fighting to survive and did not surrender, even when abandoned by your own kind and left to die. That is worth respecting.”

It’s such an unexpected show of open benevolence on his part that Sereda, momentarily taken aback, sharply turns her head at him and stares, gaping. “I… thank you, Sten. It’s kind of you to say that.”

”It is not a kindness. It is a truth.”

Sereda can’t help a slight smirk. “Leliana was right. You actually _are_ a bit of a softie, and just don’t want to admit it, aren’t you?” Sten lets out the slightest sound, his expression barely shifts, but Sereda interprets that subtle response as the Sten equivalent of a frustrated groan.

But when another though comes to mind that she wonders if Sten can relate to, and thinks that he can, she looks down again. “But even so, I have evaded my atonement. I have failed. I let my guard down and let my naïveté get the better of me, and this resulted in my brother being killed. And I have evaded atonement for that failure.”

”You are here and in the role of a Grey Warden. Isn’t that enough as atonement?”

Sereda stares into the camp fire. “Is it? I hope it is. I like my new life, you see.”

\--

There is one thing Leliana doesn’t tell, because Sereda doesn’t need to, and that she still sometimes sees Marjolaine in her dreams.

In those dreams, Marjolaine comes to camp, and to her tent. She tells Leliana to come back, that she will accept her again, and that everything could be just as it was. In those dreams everyone else in camp is suddenly gone as if they were never there, and there is nobody to hear them as Marjolaine whispers to her in the depths of darkness in the night, and makes love to her the way she used to, slow, deliberate, affectionate, fondly teasing all the way through. She whispers to Leliana, reminding her repeatedly how nobody knows her better, nobody understands her better, nobody knows exactly how to make her delirious with gratification and bliss like Marjolaine does. And she asks her again, _come back to me, my Leliana_ , and seals her invitation with a kiss. But Leliana always wakes up before her dream self can give an answer, whether acceptance or rejection.

”The plain truth and fact is that Leliana won’t come back to her own life even if she could and it would be exactly as it was. Not now that she has the Maker guiding her, not now that she has a new purpose, not now that she knows what Marjolaine is really like, and not now that she knows Sereda and the group of people who accompany her on her quest. She cannot imagine coming back to her old life after growing to love this one.

But she misses Marjolaine. She misses the Marjolaine she knew, the way she used to be, the slightly different Marjolaine who was just a bit more like the Marjolaine Leliana saw. She misses being in the bliss of ignorance and enjoying her life and loving the Marjolaine of her imagination and believing her to be real. She misses her bard brothers and sisters too, and fighting with them side by side, her old partners and the fun of working with them. She misses the peace of the Chantry, too, the silence, the plainness and quaint simplicity of it. Sometimes she lies awake at night and misses Lady Cecile, and misses her mother.

But she has a Blight to stop, a job to do, two Grey Wardens to accompany and help, so she will move on and overcome those sentiments just as she always has.

Sometimes when she looks at Sereda she sees what she once saw in Marjolaine, and sometimes conversation with her is so absorbing that she forgets all about her. The latter, though, seems to have been happening more often as of late. And as often as Leliana finds herself longing for the Marjolaine she once knew, she longs for the relief of forgetting her just as much. Until then she will never completely feel like she has put her past life behind.

\--

Every night, before she goes to sleep, Sereda thinks about Trian, and sees his body beneath her feet. And her tent feels so cold, yet so sodding tight and cramped, as if any time it will close up and suffocate her. And every time, she lies for at least an hour trying to fall asleep.

Sometimes the nights where she keeps patrol are better, and sometimes they are worse. The cold vastness of the forests suddenly begin to feel odd, wrong, surreal, and she suddenly remembers the void in place of a ceiling above her head and it’s almost nauseating. It’s colder, and lonelier, but not as cramped, not as tight and confining, as if the walls of the tent were her own past and memories. In either case, she cannot escape her thoughts, or the memory of Trian at her feet that refuses to get any less clear with time. In either case, she doesn’t sleep any better.

No, she only ever sleeps well when she doesn’t fall asleep alone, when it’s because she stayed up late talking to someone. And the first time she falls asleep listening to Leliana tell stories in her calming, enchanting voice, she had a better night’s sleep since the night before the expedition to Aeducan Thaig.

\--

Going to Orzammar is an inevitability, Sereda has told her, that she can’t avoid. She will have to go back and face her city again, sooner or later. “So let’s get this over with it sooner rather than later.”

Leliana watches the tension in Sereda’s walk and voice increase further and further through their journey in the Frostbacks. When the gates to Orzammar come into view, Leliana hears as Sereda’s breath catches in her throat, hears her gulp, sees the slight tremble in her posture that is ever so calm and steadfast. It is not an unjustified tension. The welcome she receives is not a warm one, and the awkwardness and discomfort is clear as day through their journey. It is painful for Leliana to listen; how much worse must it be for Sereda?

All the more painful is watching Sereda defend herself at every accusation, and see the painful truth that it is pointless, that nobody will ever listen or consider listening. And seeing that Sereda is not unaware of this. She wants to jump in to defend her, but the first time she is about to open her mouth and take a step, Sereda stops her with one gesture of her hand, and shakes her head. So Leliana does what she can and as they make their way, quietly places a hand on Sereda’s shoulder and squeezes tightly.

It is brief, but Sereda looks at Leliana, and she smiles, sad, but thankful. Then adds, in a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

But there is a plus, and that it is seeing Orzammar with her own eyes. To say that it is a magnificent, breath-taking city is—an understatement. No words can do it justice, no description, not even a painting. The thought that this is where Sereda came from, where she was born in, and lived all her life, makes her think of it as a part of her, a side of Sereda that she otherwise could not have gotten to see, and she thanks the Maker for the opportunity she was given, to be given the honor to see such a personal, private part of her, and to be at Sereda’s side in such a long and personal journey. And she thanks Sereda for her trust in Leliana, for the fact that she never even considered placing doubt in her, yet again.

Mentioning her awe to Sereda gets another smile, and, when she admits that she finds the little rabbit or pig-like animals they keep absolutely adorable, Sereda bursts out into (relatively restrained, Leliana notes) laughter that doesn’t die down even when Leliana starts to almost glare. She apologizes even as she laughs (“It’s just very odd for me to hear you say that, please understand!”), but Leliana decides that she’s not angry. Besides, it is wonderful to see her laugh, after how tense Sereda looked ever since they’ve found themselves in the Frostbacks.

So it is shocking—it shouldn’t be, but it’s shocking when Sereda, pure discomfort written all over her face, leads them lower to where she calls Dust Town. It must be a name given in mockery, for who could call it a town? This is a place with no word for it. The wretched brown grime-covered streets of the lowest pits do not seem like a part of the grant city Leliana just saw. But they are, there is no doubt about it. The design, the style in the building and environment is the same, and though the dwarves who live in it have tattoos on their faces and can’t be mistaken for the same dwarves as those in the upper city, they are dwarves nonetheless.

This must be what the dwarves see as the Void. These are the lowest pits of the earth any thinking, sentient creature could reach and live in. But the people in it, the dwarves she sees passing by, do not disgust her, not when looking at them breaks Leliana’s heart. They are the most miserable and dejected of all, and the sight of them can only cause sorrow. So distracted she is that she doesn’t even notice when Sereda walks off to ask one of the dwarves there to catch a nug for her, and when she is drawn into another conversation with a woman who for some reason does not have a brand asking her for coin.

”Come on. Let’s go back.” Sereda’s voice, quietly bleak, snaps Leliana out of her horrified stupor. She finds herself exchanging glances with Sten, who very clearly noticed the change in their leader’s mood. When they walk Leliana catches Sereda’s grim expression that’s so unlike her. They walk back to the Commons in silence, and then Leliana finally speaks up.

”Sereda, are you al—“

And then Sereda turns to her with a strained smile, and barest trace of a laugh. “Well, now! That was… quite a disillusionment, wasn’t it?“

”You didn’t know about this?”

”Oh, I knew. Of course I did. I knew all about this. But I’m the princess. Do you think they’d led Lady Aeducan take even a step into the direction of the entrance? Do you think I’d risk my reputation by doing that? To where the brands live? And look at me now, technically one of them.” Sereda sighs, and looks down at her feet briefly, than faces Leliana gain with a smile full of pure bitterness. “The thing is, you see, knowing it and seeing it for myself are two different things. I knew there was such a place in my city, of course, and I knew there was such people in it. But when you get down to it… I knew nothing. Not that they are just common citizens, in the end, struggling against living whole lives of brutal injustice. I… don’t know what I thought all my life. Probably that they deserved it, I bet, and all sorts of other excuses about how it can’t be helped, even if I didn’t admit it to myself Some noble princess I am.”

Looking down at the floor, remorseful and self-deprecating, Sereda suddenly reminds Leliana of the repentant folk she’d see kneeling by Andraste’s statue in contemplating, back in Lothering. And there is something in it that makes Leliana feels nostalgic, something that brings Leliana back to a similar feeling she experienced one herself.

And for the first time since Leliana met her, Sereda suddenly looks small.

\--

They forget about it, briefly, when on their way back after having convinced Zerlinda’s father and to tell her of it, Sereda stops by the dwarf she talked to earlier to pick up the nug she had him catch. She presents him to Leliana, and smiles and feels warm in the heart when she watches Leliana coo in utter delight over her new gift.

\--

Even after all her disillusionment with her city, Sereda loves it. All the disenchantment in the world cannot stain her loyalty to it and devotion to it. Orzammar is everything to it even now that she sees it is a city and a world no different from all others, that it has its stains and unpleasantness and a darker side like they all do.

If only it would help her make this decision. If only it would make taking this choice less painful, and make her do it without hesitation. But it is a painful choice, a difficult choice, and she struggles with it and fights with herself internally over it until the truth finally surfaces.

When she announces it, trying not to do so dramatically, there is not a single one among her companions who does not protest, who does not show some sort of shock. She can understand that. She would never have thought of doing it either, not when she first heard of the candidates.

But could they understand, she wonders, with all sincerity. Could they understand what it means to hold a land so close to your heart, as If it were a part of you, to have it such an important part of what makes you who you are? Could they understand unquestionable devotion to it? The feeling of responsibility for it?

Well, maybe not. But could they understand her own feelings, her reasons, should she explain?

Regardless of whether they can, though, they deserve a change to understand. So she explains anyway.

”I know Harrowmont. I know Bhelen, or at least know him well enough. I know the kind of king both of them would make, and I know what kind of king Bhelen intends to be and where he’d lead Orzammar from everything I’ve heard until now.”

Zevran, one of the few not surprised by her decision, raises an eyebrow. “I see that you’ve taken my advice after all, then.”

Sereda bites her lip. “Harrowmont is a very good man. He is the only one who trusted me and believed in me when everyone else didn’t. Even when my father betrayed me, Harrowmont did not. I… can’t describe how much I owe him, and this is probably the most difficult thing I am ever going to do. Hopefully, he will understand. But even so, I know him well enough to say that he would not make a good king. He is not the king Orzammar needs. ”

”And your brother? Who framed you and stabbed you in the back and who manipulated and cheated his way where he is now? Would he make a better king than him?” Leliana sounds angrier that Sereda ever heard her.

”I know it sounds unlikely, and impossible to believe. But yes. Orzammar needs to change. It needs to move forward with the times. For all the importance and vitality of holding on to out traditions and not forgetting what makes us dwarves, when these traditions are poisonous to the city itself, they need to be changed. This is what Bhelen intends to do. You can’t begin to understand how rare his thinking is and how bold and daring a move that is, from an Aeducan prince, to go against the commonly accepted beliefs. ”

”And let him get away with that he’s done with you? Are you ready for that?”

”Yes.”

Over the uneasy silence that befalls, Sereda continues. “I have to do what is best for Orzammar, and what is best for Orzammar is Bhelen. I am their princess, or was, once, and I have a responsibility to my people. In fact, even if I were a stranger, if I know what’s the right thing to do for Orzammar, I have a responsibility to do it. No matter how I feel about it. I have a duty. A responsibility, not just as a princess, but as a person, to do what’s right! I sat up there in the Diamond Quarter enjoying my life and surrounded by bootlickers and toadies for all my life, worshipped like a Paragon even though I haven’t done anything to deserve it except be born to the right person, convinced of my righteousness and honor and nobility. Completely unaware what’s really going on here!” So frustrated she was trying to explain herself that she raised her voice without realizing. “That my good life can only exist by trampling on, by using and sacrificing innocent, normal people, just like the ones I want to protect, by inflicting oppression and injustice on them! I owe them to this! More than anyone else! I can’t put my personal satisfaction and desires over Orzammar! I can’t put my grudge over what’s good for this city, for the people here! Is that so—so difficult to understand?!”

How far has graceful and elegant Lady Aeducan fallen, to be shouting like this in frustration and anger at those who aren’t even the target of it. Before, the humiliation and disgrace would probably be destructive. After a moment, after calming down a little, she speaks in her usual tone again and says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But you can understand what I’m trying to say, right?”

”It’s ultimately your choice, Warden.” Wynne says calmly and smoothly. “We can’t force you to change it, and it is not our business in the first place, as strangers to this city. It concerns us only as it relates to you as our leader. I would say that in spite of my initial opposition, when you put it that way, I understand your decision and your reasoning, I think it is a correct one.” She pauses, and speaks more cautious. “I don’t know whether someone like your brother is truly the correct choice for the throne, but you seem to truly believe he is. And as a stranger, I will defer to your judgment in this case.”

”Thank you, Wynne.” Ancestors bless her for being so reasonable. There is agreement, some reluctant, some less, after that, and everyone seems to calm down after it. She laughs, trying to ease away the awkwardness of her sudden shouting earlier. “I’m sorry I yelled. Ugh, how embarrassing. I can’t believe I lost control like that! Back when I was still a princess, you couldn’t imagine the consequences this would have be—“

”I don’t envy the position you’re in.” Zevran says in a sudden and firm voice that cuts right through her words like a knife. “It is not an easy choice to make.” His expression is shockingly solemn, but not unsympathetic, and when she looks at him she is suddenly completely convinced that he saw right through her, and is not entirely sure how.

Then it passes and he returns to his usual glib self. “Really, you self-sacrificing, honorable types are always such a _mystery_ to me. It seems like so much more _trouble_ than it’s worth to be that way. As if you practically _indulge_ in self-torture! You probably do, don’t you? No need to be ashamed of your tastes, we all have different preferences—”

Leliana walks over to her and quietly whispers. “The decision you made is a good one, and the correct one, to do what’s important for the sake of others. But I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to make that choice.”

”Thank you, Leliana, but you don’t have to do that.”

”I thought you might want to know that I understand. You did what’s right, what’s worth respecting.”

”And I appreciate it, but you don’t need to tell me that. No, in fact, I rather that you don’t.” Leliana looks at her curiously. “It’s an odd request, I know, but… I don’t need praise.”

_If you praise me, Leliana, I will start to congratulate myself and feel good about myself and start to do these things just for my self-esteem and not because they are right. And I won’t be able to atone the way I want to._

Because _this_ is her atonement. Here, here it is. She will make her sacrifice, and nobody will know it, or praise her for it. They will see her as redeeming herself for her crime, and nobody will know that she never committed it in the first place. She will not get to enjoy having her ego stroked, or tell herself what a wonderful, kind, self-sacrificing person she is; the stain on the past on this good deed will prevent her from ever enjoying it. What kind of sacrifice is this, compared to the ones the casteless made their entire lives? Her atonement is no longer about Trian or her failure. Her atonement is about the princess she should have been, and failed to be.

\--

When they have a free moment, when they have left Bhelen’s room after their reunion and have an opportunity to explore the Royal Palace, Sereda shows her current group of companions around.

If Orzammar was beautiful beyond words, the palace is the embodiment of that beauty. And just as it awakens something in her heart to see a unique, private part of Sereda, to be allowed into it, so does it happen with the palace, but the effect is even stronger here, in the palace, in the place where Sereda was born, where she was raised, where she was a child, where she was made into the woman she is now, when she became the Sereda that they know.

Leliana’s breath catches with a feeling she can’t describe when they enter the room Sereda refers to her as her bedroom. “My old bedroom,” she corrects herself, in a quiet voice. A tremble Leliana wouldn’t recognize months ago is the only thing that betrays any feeling. Sereda stands as still as a statue, but the slump of her shoulders makes it impossible to mistake her for one of the proud and stout statues lined in the Hall of Heroes. Leliana takes a few steps further, to get as clear look of the room ass he can, and as she passes lets a hand rest on Sereda’s back, he on her shoulder, in a slight caress she hopes Sereda could feel at least slightly through her armor.

\--

The Deep Roads are not quite the Void, not quite the very depths and the very bowels of the earth. But they are close enough, Leliana supposes, and the closest thing she will ever come to literally braving a dark, dangerous, frightening place for someone else’s sake.

And the Deep Roads are a frightening place to venture through. It is an unholy place, forgotten, abandoned, and if you are lost here you won’t ever be found again. Monsters, beasts, violent creatures, the darkspawn that embody all that is corrupt, wicked and unholy, these are all that’s alive in it. One could say that it’s filled up with ruins were it not in itself a ruin, abandoned, forgotten. A lost world, filled with the silence of death, and this emptiness and silence are far more frightening than the darkspawn. There is something about a world so filled with silence, a massive emptiness, the thought that you are alone in such a massive, vast world, the thought that if you get lost here, you will never be found, of how easy disappearing into nonexistence is in a place like this, that is terrifying on a deeper level than a primal fear of death by an enemy’s blade. 

Yes, she would have blindly ventured here without regret, once, for Marjolaine’s sake, and done it all alone. Now, she would not have ventured this place alone for anyone, not even for Sereda. No, she prefers to walk through it _with_ Sereda, side-by-side, with Shale and the recently-introduced Oghren for company. To be trusted enough by Sereda that she would chose Leliana to accompany her as she returns to this barren, empty world that smells of death and corruption. To be there for Sereda, as Sereda is always there for Leliana. As frightening as the Deep Roads are, as apprehensive and uneasy to a very deep level the silence and vast emptiness makes her, she is not alone here, and they are here together in both their apprehension and determination. They all have their purposes, reasons to be here—Shale, in a quest to seek out any clues about the past or to restore lost memories; Sereda, to save her city and restore a king to its throne alongside her larger goal to gather an army to fight the Blight; Oghren, to seek his wife. 

And Leliana, she is here for the same reason she decided to follow Sereda in the first place. Only now it’s a bit more personal, a bit more about Sereda herself, because Sereda wants Leliana with her and because Leliana wants to be nowhere else but beside Sereda in times like this.

And on their way, as they walk, Leliana decides to fill the silence. It eases the tension and fearfulness in the air, and makes it easy to forget, momentarily, where they are. And here, so deep within the earth and within so much silence, there is space to speak words it’s much harder to say in fuller spaces farther above.

One time, it’s Sereda who decides to try filling the silence instead. “You know,” She says, “I think that if we succeed at this, Bhelen might have my title and name restored.”

She says with a casual air, as if it’s a meaningless topic of no importance, her face very deliberately turned away from the rest of them as she does so.

”That’s good, isn’t it?”

Sereda shrugs, a bit forcefully. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Leliana says gently, ”Because you don’t sound very happy about it.”

”I don’t know how I feel about it. I’ve gotten so used to the fact that I’m not ever going to be Lady Aeducan ever again, after having finally accepted this loss, that now that I might get it back, I… I feel like I should be feeling completely different than what I am. It’s strange. I’m not sure I really want my title back.” And then sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I really have thrown my lot in with the surfacers huh? Lost my stone-sense and all the things I’m told happen to any dwarf who ever goes to the surface.”

”Heh, If anyone back in Orzammar were to hear you saying that, they’d probably have a heart attack.” Oghren comments in a dry tone.

”Yes, I imagine they would. In fact, if I knew, back when I was still the princess, that I was going to eventually say that, I’d probably have a heart attack too.”

”You’re not going to tell him not to restore your title, though, are you? ‘Cause that would just be plain stupidity, passing up an opportunity like that.”

Sereda snorts, “Definitely not. But the whole gist of being a Grey Warden is that it defines who you are. Your past life and title are meaningless. So… when you get down to it, I’m not sure how much it’s going to matter. I’ve settled into this new life far too comfortably to ever go back.”

Leliana tilts her head slightly. “And if you could go back? Without what Bhelen did to you ever happening, without any of this happening? “

”That would require some seriously difficult-sounding time-reversing magic and not to mention—“

”Suppose we had all that. Would you go back?”

Sereda stares at Leliana intensely. Her serious expression is not new, but there is a gravity in it that’s different from the usual. She takes a very slow, thoughtful sigh, looks briefly downwards, and stares directly forward as she continues to walk. Then, says in a severe, somber voice. “No. What happened to me would have eventually happened. It was inevitable.”

”Inevitable?”

An expression Leliana never saw before—a smirk, tinged with bitterness and anger. "Bhelen was better than any of us, and especially better than me. Didn’t I tell you? I was not meant to rule Orzammar, or for even being its princess. I was too afraid of dishonor and of playing dirty in a world where that’s exactly what the tactic was for everything. I took what we called honor at face value. I never understood what it really is. It doesn't belong to you, and it's not yours to stain or restore. Only the Assembly's. The Assembly and the Memories can take it or give it back as they wish, regardless of what you do or decide. It is out of your hands. All decided by the public. No matter how many dishonorable actions you commit, your honor is spotless if nobody knows of them. And if the public believes your honor is compromised, even if you did not commit the action that makes them believe so, then that's how it is."

"But you still haven't given up on it."

”My honor? No, I have not. I decided to still hold on to it, even after its true nature has been revealed to me. And decided to hold on meaning of honor that I used to believe in. I suppose it's a hard concept to let go of after holding on to it all my life."

"But now that you’re a Grey Warden, on the surface, without the Assembly, without your public… it must be easier."

"That's true. Funny how being stripped of my honor made my devotion to it even stronger, and my pursuit of it even easier. Maybe now I understand what true honor really is, without all the preaching of the deshyrs and the scholars around me muddling my view."

“I think it's right of you not to give up on it, even if it must be incredibly difficult, and very brave."

Sereda looks away, and says quietly, "Or maybe I'm just being foolish and not facing reality even after having it shoved into my face. Maybe there is no such thing as honor, and never was, and I’m just unwilling to accept that."

"You're not losing your faith in your beliefs even after your world has been shattered, and instead follow them all the more strongly. That--"

"Is exactly like you, isn’t it?” Sereda smiles again. “I never told you, but I would have thought a traumatic experience like betrayal would make you less inclined to believe in unseen god and forces of good, not more."

Leliana's breath catches in her throat. "You'd be surprised," she says slowly, "how often it works the other way around."

Yes, sometimes trauma is a catalyst for loss of faith. And sometimes it makes you need faith all the stronger. She wants to tell Sereda that, but the words refuse to come out, as it would be admitting that just maybe imply, maybe she holds on to the Maker because she simply needs to, because she began to believe when she was at the lowest of the low and needed something to bring her back up.

"Is that so? The human concept of faith is a little peculiar." Sereda hums, as if she didn't notice, but how she not have, Sereda who notices everything? But she stays quiet, and as they keep on their way, says nothing and neither does Leliana.

\--

They return to Orzammar weary and exhausted. And they succeed, but it’s a pyrrhic victory, and Sereda certainly doesn’t feel like she has succeeded when she watches her brother call for the execution for one of her last remaining true allies in the world that was once her home and that she wants to be her home. Her protest is made more in desperation than anything else—she can probably only afford it because of who she was and who she is, and because Bhelen knows he does not need to have her removed. If it were anyone else…

And Bhelen, as it turns out, does inform her he’s going to restore her title after all. She can’t tell if his tone is mocking or sincere. In fact, the Bhelen standing before her in this room, the one she met upon her turn and the one she sees now, is practically unrecognizable as the brother she knew all her life. Sometimes she sees traces of him, when he speaks more formally and courteously, a polite yoing prince. But he constantly switches between two different tones of voice, one high, smug and confident (with the slightest trace of irony) and, and the other low, dark and severe, that are entirely foreign to her. Perhaps this is what he really was like all along, deep down, and she never noticed. Perhaps she just never truly knew him. And now that he is king, here in the privacy, he can finally be open as his real self. Maybe in front of her more than in front of anyone else. It’s a dubious honor she’s been given.

He has won. This all is a consolation prize. But she will go down with her integrity intact, at least, and if possible, her dignity.

”You probably understand,” she informs him icily, “That I won’t ever forgive you.”

”I don’t need you to, Sister.”

”And that my helping you has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my troops, and with what’s good for Orzammar.”

”Of course. We had a common goal there, after all.”

”I will admit this much: you were always better at politics than I am, and more meant for this throne than I was. I am entrusting this city in your hands. You got your throne. Don’t you mess this up and make everything you did for nothing.”

”Your willingness to trust me is _truly_ touching, Sister.”

”I have to trust you. I have no choice.”

”True enough. Well, there’s no need to worry about the good of Orzammar. I did not work so hard to gain this throne so I can abuse and waste it. You may not think so, since your view of the world is _impressively_ simple-minded, but I don’t care about Orzammar any less than you do.” With the look he gives her when he says it, she can almost believe it. Bhelen shrugs, “I doubt that is going to satisfy you, but there you go.”

Be good on your word, Bhelen. That’s what will satisfy me.”

Bhelen gives her a look that’s almost genuinely impressed. “You never change after all, do you? Like I said. Stubborn and noble as ever. How you managed that, I don’t know, but I sincerely hope that quality will serve you well in the Grey Wardens. It definitely didn’t do you any good here.”

”Yes, I am well aware of that now.”

She looks at him, he at her, and as though there is no tension in the air at all, Bhelen shrugs, and says almost cheerfully, but with a most casual air, “Forgive me or not, it doesn’t matter. As long as you don’t cause… unnecessary trouble, I really don’t care how you feel or how you go about it. But my offer still stands. Do come by and visit sometime. Your home and family is here. I’ll welcome my big sister anytime. I’ll even introduce you to my future wife, and surely you’d like to at least meet your new nephew.”

Sereda narrows her eyes at him, and sighs. “Sometime.“

”You know, it’s not like I want to be your enemy or be on bad terms with you, but if you really insist on it, I won’t lose sleep over it—“

”Yes, Bhelen, I get it.”

”So we’re done here?”

”Just one last thing. Do remember how much you owe me.”

With this, Sereda turns on her heel and very nearly almost storms out of the door, her footsteps heavier than she can ever remember them being. Bhelen says something, ever so calm, as she exists, that she doesn’t quite make out.

Her companions, both they who accompanied her to the Deep Roads, and those who parted with her at the entrance and waited for her in Orzammar, stand waiting for her. She feels the rush of her own blood, the warmth of her face, the rapid beat of her heart, all of them from the anger she’s been keeping in all these months, and knows it will take time for it to truly, entirely calm and disappear. But then she looks at Leliana once, and it comes very, very close.


End file.
